联合译通被《21世纪留学交流未来》杂志选为留学文书专栏长期执笔专家！

PS 写作样例五

    联合译通认为，对于PS、推荐信这些欧美文化和思维习惯下的事物，只有真正学习那些地道的，既欧美本国学生申请的优秀文章才最有借鉴和参考意义。联合译通的母语写作专家精选了一些为本国学生写的优秀申请文件供大家参考。通过这些样例，您可以了解到欧美英语的文风结构、文书写作的思维方式和英语表达。

Statement of Purpose for Graduate School of Business

Optional Question: Each of us has been influenced by the people, events, and situations in our lives. How have these influences shaped who you are today?
Answer: I used to see my life as a spiral stair. I would go up, a step at a time, and sometimes find myself in the same spot as before. Same spot maybe, but one story higher. I would go up the stairs carrying one bag marked Tracy, the American side of me with my right arm and another marked Taeko, the Japanese side with my left. The weight of my load varied. I would bring self-assertion into my Tracy bag, load team spirit into Taeko, and drop confusion from Taeko. I would continue walking up the steps, dropping and picking up as I went along. If one bag got heavier, I stumbled. But if they were balanced, no matter how heavy they got, I could keep climbing. I thought that once I reached the top of the stairs, I could lay down my bags. That would be the moment when Tracy and Taeko finally integrated.

I began constructing my spiral stairs twenty years ago. I remember my very first day at school when I moved to New York from Japan with my family at the age of six. It is amazing how kids fit into a different culture so easily. I chose to be called Tracy because my friends and teachers could not pronounce my Japanese name, Taeko, correctly. Tracy played hopscotch with American friends, pledged allegiance to the flag every morning at school, and strived to win spelling bees. During my five-and-a-half years in New York, Tracy had completely dominated me. I cried on the swings when kids call me "Jap" and threw rocks at me. I watched Shogun in amazement, not knowing what to make of my mother country. When my family returned to Japan, I brought back with me an assertive Tracy and a confused Taeko.

In Japan, I entered a special program for "returnees" called "International Special Class" at my junior high school in Tokyo. Although there were forty students each in all other regular classes,we had only fifteen-all students that had grown up abroad-in our special class. Ms. Okuyama, our homeroom teacher, protected us under her shield and always told us to cherish our experiences from abroad, no matter how the Japanese society treated us. She encouraged me to become a linking bridge between the United States and Japan, to fill in the communication gaps-language-wise and culture-wise-between the two countries. Perhaps it was the name of the class, "International Special Class," that separated our island from the mainland. During physical education (the only class we took together with the other kids), we always formed one group among ourselves, and if someone from the regular class had to join us, we always got the leftover losers.

When I returned to the States for high school in Seattle, Tracy bloomed, while Taeko shrank like a deflated balloon. After high school, I felt that Tracy was getting too heavy (not just physically from my passion for hamburgers and candy bars). My two bags, Tracy and Taeko, did not balance. I longed for my identity. In order to overcome my confusion, I chose to return to Japan for college and join taiikukai-a varsity sports team at a Japanese university- to better understand the culture of my mother country. Taiikukai demonstrates the Japanese society in microcosm. Ambitious, zealous, and green as I was, I had little idea of what I was getting myself involved in.

On our tennis team, we had numerous irrational and extreme rules to abide by. The first one is quite reasonable: never be late for practice. However, some learned it the hard way, by having to shave his head or cut her hair. Others barely made it on time. For example, one member had to abandon his broken down car in the middle of the street in order to be on time. We had more rules. Never miss practice except for a death or a wedding in the family or for extreme sickness. Call each other by last names during practice-no nicknames. Always start a rally or a drill with "onegai shimasu" (please) and end it with "arigato gozaimashita" (thank you) and a bow. Ball persons throw the ball to the player in one bounce; apologize if it bounces twice. Bring water to the upperclassmen during practice breaks, and let them drink before you do. Assemble as soon as possible when the captain musters the team with "shugol" (get together). Then line up horizontally in order of seniority: seniors up front and freshmen at the back. Clasp your hands behind your back, never let them hang down. Always reply loudly, "hail" (yes sir) to the captain's orders and never ever disobey.

Corporate spirit over individuality. Insult and reproof over compliment. Seniority over ability. The impractical philosophy of taiikukai amazed me. I hated going to the mandatory party after the mandatory practice. Practicing in T-shirts and shorts in 32 degree weather to train our guts was crazy. Why did sophomores scold us after every practice for not working hard enough, no matter how hard we tried? They didn't have to get up at 5:30 a.m. to prepare the day courts. However, whenever I wanted to quit, I remembered what I was there for. Giving up on taiikukai would be giving up my Japanese identity.

Nothing in taiikukai made sense to me at first, but bit by bit, the pieces fell into place. Experiencing and understanding the essence of taiikukai helped me to respect Japanese tradition, but only after the full four years. Our taiikukai, one of the two oldest teams in Japan, was founded more than 100 years ago, while the United States was still recovering from the Civil War! First of all, I should not take the words verbatim, but understand what the speaker really means. My coach threw insults like "penguin" for moving slowly on the court as an incentive, so that we would strive to get to the ball. Having grown up in an environment that was motivated by compliment rather than insult, it took time and effort to realize the passion that people had behind their harsh words. In the States, I had worked hard because I enjoyed being complimented (of course, prizes often helped). In taiikukai, I worked harder so that I wouldn't be insulted. Secondly, hierarchy stressed heavily in taiikukai makes the organization efficient. After all, don't we all strive to achieve efficiency in an organization? Thirdly, knowing honorific expressions and manners (such as salutations during practice) can help and never hurt me in Japanese society. Not knowing them can hurt. A lot.

I remember my recruiting interview with our CEO, Yotaro (Tony) Kobayashi. Having played team tennis himself, he asked me what I valued most from my taiikukai experience. I baffled him when I spontaneously answered, "I learned to use honorific expression in Japanese." Taiikukai and language? What about team- work? What about guts? However, as I look back, the honorific expression does symbolize things that are necessary in order to do in Japan as the Japanese do.

I am beginning to think that although Tracy and Taeko represent polar views, the foundation of both "me's" must be the same. When we talk of different cultures, we talk about how different they are, instead of digging in to discover the fundamental similarities. Instead of climbing the spiral stairs with my two bags, I see myself now digging a tunnel from two sides of a mountain, Tracy and Taeko. I dig some from Tracy, and some from Taeko. At some point, the two tunnels should meet to become one. For the past eight years, I have worked on my Japanese Taeko. It is now time to work on my Tracy. Then, when the two tunnels connect, the dark tunnel will suddenly flood with lights coming through from both directions.